


I'm Only Human Sometimes...

by clevelandkiwi



Category: Dagorhir, Foam fighting, LARP - Fandom, Lancerus
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Nobody cares about your backstory, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, mostly original fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22099192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clevelandkiwi/pseuds/clevelandkiwi
Summary: The gathered tales and adventures of Trinian gra-Dushnikh, the Ironfoot, Crone Queen of the Unseelie Court of the Fae
Kudos: 3





	I'm Only Human Sometimes...

21st of Hearthfire; The Reach, Skyrim.

The road to Dushnikh Yal is not a place for the faint of heart. It’s a rugged path, with difficult weather and constant threat of attack from animals or the savage Forsworn. The lone orc who travels it now knows this well, but it’s clear the red and black wrapped spear she holds is serving her more as a walking stick than as a weapon. She’s dying, and she knows it. Dushnikh, if she can reach it, is her last hope. She wraps her cloak tighter around her, keeping her free arm around the bundle strapped to her front, and prays that she’ll make it. She thinks she can hear the sounds of the stronghold’s mine and forge, but the mountains play tricks on the mind, especially towards the end. She presses onward; she has no other options. 

It’s near mid-day when she sights the gate, and stumbles into the courtyard, sinking to her knees. “Your forge-wive,” she asks the gathering crowd, “Where is your forge-wive?” An older orc steps forward, her clothes and skin covered in the dust and grease of the forges, as the traveller removes the bundle from her chest, holding it out. It’s a child, a girl, not even a half-year yet. “Trinian,” she says, breathing heavily. “Her name is Trinian. Her father is a Nord. A jarl. If she… If they knew…” she shakes her head. “She must be kept secret. She must be raised as a warrior.” 

The forge-wive nods solemnly, taking the child into her arms as the Chieftain and heart-wive come to her side. “And she shall be.” 

The traveller stands, passing her spear to the others as she does. “Then I am ready to face my death,” she says, drawing her sword from her hip.

“Northwest. Over the ridge, near the river. There’s a troll that makes his den near there,” the Chieftain tells her. 

“Then you will know where to find me,” she says. She pauses, cradling her daughter’s face one last time and kissing the top of her head, before turning and walking out to meet her doom.


End file.
